


The Twinquisitor; or, the Pretender at Skyhold

by GreyWardenAspasia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, not the original missing Trevelyan lol, tags are weiiiiiird, the romance is between the mage replacement Trevelyan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24720025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWardenAspasia/pseuds/GreyWardenAspasia
Summary: Inquisitor Emily Trevelyan has gone missing after swearing to find Solas. The organization is crumbling under her absence, losing allies left and right as powerful nobles are offended by her non-attendance of their parties.In a desperate attempt to preserve what is left of their political pull, Leliana investigates and makes a discovery: Emily has a twin sister, Honora Trevelyan. The mage was presumed dead after the attack on the Ostwick Circle, but the Nightingale’s intel suggests otherwise.They convince Honora to masquerade as her sister to help the Inquisition regain influence in a tumultuous world, but some are concerned about the charade. No one is more worried about it than Cullen.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 19
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

She woke to the sound of frozen rain pelting the thatched roof above her head.  
  
Nora’s eyes slowly opened. It was dark and the only light in the room came from a handful of glowing embers in the little fireplace. The tiny glass window on one wall was frosted over completely and as she stood from her bed, cold seeped through her thick woolen socks. Dancing from one foot to the other, she pulled a log from the modest woodpile in the corner of the room and tossed it into the fire.

  
The embers struggled with the new addition to their resting place. 

  
“Alright, boys, you can do this. It’s just a little log,” Nora said. She had picked up the habit of talking to herself from her many years in the Ostwick Circle and it persisted even after the dissolution of the organization. “Maybe you need some help.”

  
She crouched next to the fireplace and extended her right hand over the freshly added pine log. The next part was easy and familiar, like a reunion with an old friend. Nora felt a warmth in her heart and guided it down her arm. Flames erupted from her fingertips. Light bloomed in the small cottage.

  
Once she was sure the fire would not burn itself out anytime soon, Nora returned to her bed. The mound of blankets, sadly, had lost their residual warmth. She hunkered down in the furs anyway and attempted to sleep. 

  
An hour later she was still awake. Her body was tired, her eyes were heavy, but her mind was jumping all over the place. It skittered about like a startled deer, flitting from one worry to the next. 

  
Tomorrow, she would meet the Inquisitor’s advisors.  _ Her  _ advisors, for the foreseeable future. She had met Leliana and liked the redhead well enough, but knew nothing of the rest of them. Nora was worried they would outvote Leliana and then turn her away. Then what would she do, alone and without allies in the middle of the Frostbacks?

  
‘ _ I would probably eventually starve or freeze to death.’  _ Her brain supplied this helpful thought and it spurred five different branches of thought where she imagined her own demise. Perhaps a pack of wolves or a bear, a fall from a treacherous cliff, an avalanche. Bandits. Frostbite. 

  
Nora had common sense and she was tough, but she did not know enough to keep herself alive in the middle of a cold mountain range. 

  
She had spent most of her life in the Ostwick Circle. It was not pleasant, but it had been relatively safe. She had been provided with food, shelter, a bed... except for the times when she had said something mouthy to a Templar or the First Enchanter. During those times she had been provided with a spot in the cellar and a pillow she was sure was made of stone.

  
After the dissolution of the Circle, Nora had first traveled with a group of fellow mages. They were not necessarily her friends, but they were familiar and provided safety in numbers… until they didn’t.

  
They became bolder and attracted attention and talked of revolution and joining the Inquisition. 

  
She had split off from them at that time. She had no desire to meet the famous Inquisitor, for it would not be a meeting at all. 

  
It would be a reunion.

  
Honora hadn’t seen Emily in more than two decades. For the first eight years of their lives, Emily and Nora had been inseparable. They shared everything, they talked about everything, they protected each other.

  
That ended when Nora developed magic abilities and her twin did not. She was eight years old when she was taken from the Trevelyan family, scared and small and alone for the first time since she entered the world. Her only comfort was when the First Enchanter told her that letters were welcome and she would be able to write back to her family.

  
But they never responded to her letters and they never wrote their own or sent packages or flowers for her birthday. Each year that passed without contact, she grew more guarded and resilient and learned a very hard lesson: she could, apparently, only rely on herself.

  
When the Circle first dissolved, she didn’t even think about returning to her family’s estate. She did not think of her family at all, in fact, until someone mentioned the name ‘Trevelyan’ in passing. Lo and behold - she discovered her twin was apparently a well-known and well-loved leader.

  
There was a dam in her heart and behind it was the Trevelyan family and thoughts and pain and anger and if she thought about them for too long surely it would break open and drown her.

  
She took a breath, steeled the dam, and moved on with her life.

  
She wandered from town to town. Nora always found an odd job to do: scrubbing floors, pulling weeds, washing laundry, anything that would get her either a meal in her belly or a few coins in her pocket. 

  
She did this for months while the Inquisition spread across Thedas, battles raged, towns grew empty as people volunteered for the cause. Nora was aware of the irony as she picked up empty plates and refilled tankards in a tavern in a little town outside of Denerim; she only had a job as a barmaid because the previous one had followed her husband to the Inquisition.

  
It wasn’t a very glamorous life she was leading, but it was a life. The tavern owner let her sleep in a little storage closet with a makeshift cot. He gave her two meals a day, a few coins a week, and brought her a pastry once when she had told him it was her birthday.

  
The same people visited the tavern every day, so it was easy to spot a fresh face. Travelers, mostly, or merchants. 

  
But one day the Spymaster of the Inquisition came into the tavern.

  
Nora had not known who the redheaded woman was when she came into the building. The stranger was dressed normally enough; no flashy clothes or expensive armor. She looked… normal. Nora had not given her a second thought as she brought cups of mead and platters of mutton to the tables.

  
It was only later that night, when Nora had a moment to herself, that she realized the redhead woman had not left. She had been sitting at the same table in the corner all night, nursing the same tankard of ale for hours as the tavern emptied out.

  
Eventually, some candles were extinguished. The woman did not leave. Nora wiped down tables. The woman did not leave. 

  
“We’re closing,” Nora said finally, gesturing to the now-empty tavern. She began to stack chairs on top of the tables to prove her point. “If you’re staying, you have to buy a room.”

  
“Certainly,” the woman said in an Orlesian accent. She slid coins across the table toward Nora. “I would like a room.”

  
She picked up the coins and counted them in her hand. “This is too much,” Nora said, raising a dark eyebrow. “Unless you’re paying for more than one night.”

  
“No, thank you, just the one night. I would like to use the rest to buy a conversation.”

  
Nora smiled, then set the extra coins down on the woman’s table with more force than was necessary. “Not on the menu, sorry. Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll show you to your room. You get free breakfast in the morning, but you have to be gone by noon unless you plan on staying another night.”

  
The redhead laughed. It was a nice sound, light and genuine, but with an edge hidden behind it. “I am a patient woman. I will gladly stay another night. And another. And another.”

  
With each set of words, the woman pulled more coins from her pockets. This time they were not paltry coppers; they were gold sovereigns. More money than Nora had ever possessed in her life was sitting on the table now, all at once. 

  
The mage’s eyes roamed over the redhead. Her clothes were simple. Perhaps purposefully chosen for their nondescript qualities. Her hair was clean, she looked healthy and well-fed and she certainly had a heavy pocket full of sovereigns. What was a person with that much money doing without protection? Unless...

  
‘ _ She can protect herself.’ _

  
“Who are you?” Nora asked after a long moment. 

  
“My name is Leliana. I am the spymaster of the Inquisition."

  
Honora tried to mask her surprise but utterly failed; Leliana laughed at her expression and motioned at the vacant seat at her table. She slid into it.

  
“Alright, I’ll bite,” Nora, crossing her arms over her chest. “What is the spymaster of the Inquisition doing in the middle of nowhere?”

  
“Looking for you, of course. It took me a while to find you, actually. You’ve done a good job of hiding your trail. Did you know that the Circle records officially list you as deceased? I have never seen a corpse serve mead before, but it is impressive.”

  
Nora smiled. “Records are nothing but paper and-”

  
“Paper is easy to forge,” Leliana said with a knowing smile. “Yes, so it seems. Well done.”

  
“Not well enough, since you were able to find me. Why would you want to find me, spymaster?”

  
“Ah,” Leliana said, clicking her tongue. “I need a favor.”

  
“Don’t you already have one Trevelyan to help you? What do you need another for? Trying to complete your set?”

  
Leliana’s face was controlled. After a carefully collected moment, during which the spymaster discreetly scanned the tavern once more, she spoke low. “Emily is missing.”

  
“You  _ lost  _ her?” Nora balked. “You lost your precious heroic-”

  
“She left,” she said curtly.

  
“Ah. So what do you want - a redo?” Nora laughed, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair. It teetered on two legs as she waved a casual hand. “Look, I can’t help you. I’m trying to keep a low profile, if you haven’t noticed.”

  
“I have. And so have others. It’s only a matter of time until they figure out who you are and try to use your identity to their advantage,” Leliana leaned closer. Her voice was steady, but with a sense of genuine urgency. “People  _ will _ come for you. And they will be dangerous people.”

  
Something ignited in Nora’s heart. The familiar feeling of magic, bubbling to the surface. “Let them try,” she said simply.

  
They sat in silence for a few moments, Leliana studying the woman across from her. Nora grew uncomfortable under her gaze and shifted slightly; her eyes must have crossed to the stack of sovereigns for Leliana waved a hand and said, “Take them, if you need them. Stay here and spend them and enjoy what time you have left as an anonymous barmaid.”

_  
‘Or?’ _

  
“Or,” Leliana continued. “Leave this place. Come with me. We will pay you well for your services.”

  
“And what services are those, exactly?”

  
“We need you to make a few appearances.”

  
Nora’s eyes narrowed. The redhead’s wording had been vague on purpose. “And where will I be appearing, exactly?” she pressed.

  
“Parties. Gatherings. Social outings.”

  
“How nice, I haven’t been invited to tea hour in such a long time,” Nora said flatly. She leaned in closer to the table. “And let me guess: you want me to pretend to be Emily.”

  
Leliana’s eyebrow quirked ever so slightly, a question in her face.

  
Nora shrugged. “She’s missing, as you said. I don’t think the nobles would be too excited to accept a substitute Trevelyan to their party and if they were, why not ask one of my more…  _ illustrious _ siblings? I’m supposedly dead - why would you seek me out specifically? Only one answer: because I look like her.”

  
“You catch on quickly,” she said. Nora was not sure if Leliana was  _ genuinely  _ impressed or if the spymaster was only pretending to be impressed to flatter the mage. Perhaps she thought if she felt complimented, she would be more likely to accept the offer. 

  
“I do have a question, Leliana.”

  
“Yes?”

  
“What do I get out of this?”

  
“To start with, you would be doing Emily a favor-”

  
Nora interrupted the spymaster with a laugh. “Hmm. It seems like a lot of trouble for me to go to just to help a sister I haven’t seen since I was eight.”

  
“What do you want, then?”

  
“Hmm,” Nora’s gaze returned to the stack of sovereigns. “Gold, mostly. I’ve had to restart my life over since Ostwick and it hasn’t been easy - or cheap.”

  
“How much?”

  
“Depends. How long do I need to be Emily?”

  
“I’m not sure,” Leliana admitted. “A few weeks. A few months.”

  
“Let’s go with a weekly rate, then.”

  
“How much?”

  
“How convincing do you want me to be?” Nora asked, lips pursed. “I’m sure I’ll need to brush up on my acting skills. Learn to walk like her, talk like her… learn politics, memorize details, change my clothes. That sounds like a lot of work. My work is good, so it’s expensive.”  
  


“How much?” Leliana repeated.  
  


“Four sovereigns a week.”  
  


“Two,” the spymaster countered.  
  


“Three.”  
  


“Two,” Leliana said firmly.   
  


“Fine. Deal.”  
  


So the two women shook hands, spent one last night at the tavern, and then left the next morning to make their way toward Skyhold. 


	2. Chapter 2

The advisors were just as Leliana had described and Nora silently matched their names to them as they filed into the small cottage in a single-file line. Their presence was a bit overwhelming. This was no doubt the fullest the cottage had been since her arrival nearly a week ago, if not even longer than that.

As they all crowded themselves into the entrance of the house, Nora surveyed them - and they seemed to be studying her right back. She was not one to be self-conscious, so she straightened her back and returned their eye contact.

A short-haired woman - Cassandra, no doubt - was very shameless in her assessing gaze. “Can you fight with a sword?” she half asked, half demanded. “Have you-”

“ _ Cassandra _ ,” Leliana said with a disapproving shake of her head _.  _ The spymaster was unwrapping a thick woolen scarf from around her head and snowflakes clung to the dark fabric. “Can you halt your interrogation until we are all out of the cold? Josie, make sure you bolt the door behind you. The winds are quite fierce today.”

Josephine nodded, securing the door as Leliana hung her scarf from the wooden pegs on a nearby wall. The Antivan woman seemed to be just as nervous as Nora felt; her fingers shook as she slid each bolt into place. _ ‘Maybe she’s just cold,’  _ Nora thought, but the more she watched Josephine the more she was unsure of the cause of her discomfort. She would not meet Nora’s eyes and seemed very intrigued with brushing snow from her fashionable looking winter coat.

“It is good to see you, Nora.” Leliana said, then gestured to the other two women in the room. “Josephine and Cassandra, as I’m sure you figured out. And skulking behind them is our commander, Cullen.”

“Skulking? I’m trying to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes,” a man with dark gold hair was frowning, using a gloved hand to shake the snow from his hair. It fell onto the furry mantle of his coat, which he did not remove. “This is a small space for five of us. Perhaps we should move into the next room and sit…”

“Yes, yes, let’s sit,” Cassandra agreed. The four of them - Leliana, Josephine, Cullen, and Cassandra - scattered themselves around the cottage. Josephine claimed the only armchair in the room, with everyone else pulling a wooden chair from the small dining set that was shoved into a corner. 

They settled into their spots - and then all turned their gaze to Nora.

“So,” Cassandra said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You are her.”

Nora, who had been leaning against the doorframe that separated the entrance area to the living area, raised an eyebrow. “Sure am. I’m Nora. Trevelyan. Emily’s twin. Although you could probably tell by the whole… ‘identical face’ situation.”

Cassandra snorted. She looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“Nora has been very diligent in her commitment to learning,” the spymaster said, giving Cassandra a look. She gestured to Josephine, who had a clipboard and parchment in her lap. “Today, we need to decide what else is of importance for her to learn.”

The commander cleared his throat. “As Cassandra asked earlier - do you know any hand-to-hand combat or sword fighting?” Cullen asked. He was leaning forward, elbows on knees, chin resting on top of laced fingers. “Do you have any prior training?”

“Technically, yes? But I’m assuming you wouldn’t let me use a mage staff to fight, so…  _ officially _ , the answer would be, ‘no.’”

“We will need someone to train her, yes, that is clear,” Leliana said before anyone could respond. “But we didn’t seek her out in order to make her into a soldier. We brought her here so she could help us retain allies.  _ Generally _ , there is no need to sword fight at a cotillion - and if there is, she will never be alone for more than a moment.”

“You must have attended very boring cotillions,” Josephine said. She was looking down, writing on her parchment with a quill, but a small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.. Leliana smiled.

“The Iron Bull should train her,” Cullen said, leaning back in his seat. His face was thoughtful and the flickering candlelight caught a silvery scar on his lip. “He fought alongside the Inquisitor for over a year. He will be able to teach her to mimic Emily’s movements.”

“A good suggestion,” Cassandra agreed. “She will need different clothes, as well.”

“And training for diplomacy,” Josephine chimed.

The list was endless. Back and forth they all went and Josephine scrawled everything down. Nora needed to be taught what fork to use at fancy dinners, the latest dance steps, a summary of the Inquisition’s military history, the names of the heads of every internal division. They would need to fashion a blueprint of Skyhold, too, so that when she inevitably “returned” to Skyhold as Emily, she would not wander around aimlessly.

The entire time they drew up the long compilation of knowledge that needed to be learned  _ and _ the perfect instructors for each training  _ and  _ a schedule for each day, Nora was silent. 

She eventually grew tired of standing and grabbed a stool, pulling up next to Cullen. He automatically moved his chair slightly without looking at her, to give her more room to move into the little circle of advisors. 

“How long is our list, Josie?” Leliana asked, glancing back to the scribe. 

Josephine let out a long whistle, finishing with a ‘ _ tsk _ .’ “It’s a little intimidating, but... as long as we delegate our time efficiently, it’s nothing that cannot be learned in a few weeks. And of course, once we move to Skyhold, some training can be continued there.”

“The next scheduled appearance of the Inquisitor is in two months. That should be plenty of time. And it is a large party, so there will not be too many long one-on-one conversations. The perfect test,” the spymaster explained.

“Excellent,” Cullen said with a short nod. “We have a plan.”

* * *

The first to visit was the Iron Bull. The qunari barely fit through the little crooked doorway of the cottage and he made the space seem impossibly small. He had brought a large cloth-wrapped package with him, too, and he unrolled it on her bed after they made their introductions. 

Two swords and several pieces of armor glinted in the candlelight.

“Armor? I thought we were using sparring swords,” Nora said quietly, tucking a strand of her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. She picked up a piece of armor. It was thin metal, sandwiched between leather pieces.

“We  _ are,”  _ Bull confirmed, picking up one of the swords and running his finger along the dull edge. “But armor is heavy and you need to get used to the weight of it. And even sparring swords leave bruises.”

“You’re not wearing armor,” she pointed out, but began to buckle the armor over her tunic and pants anyway. She fumbled with the straps; the Iron Bull reached over to help her. “You don’t think I’ll land a hit?”

Bull chuckled, a deep and rumbly noise. “You can try.”

She did try. And she failed. Over and over and over. Bull always seemed to know what move she was trying to make before she did and he was always there to block it. Sometimes he just lazily knocked her sword away, sometimes he ended up shoving her back. 

By the time they were a half hour into it, her ass was sore from falling and her grip on her sword was so sweaty that it slipped from her grasp. 

“I’m so  _ tired.  _ Already! Emily has been fighting for over a decade at this point,” Nora panted, retrieving her weapon from the snow. She turned, holding the sword lazily in her grasp. “How am I supposed to get to her level in a few weeks?”

“You’re not,” Bull said. “Hold the sword higher.”

She obeyed, wiping a sweaty strand of hair from her face. “Then  _ why  _ are we training this hard? Because it’s amusing to see a mage struggle to lift a giant ass sword?”

“That sword? Giant? Nah. I’ve seen bigger,” he said, shrugging. “No one really expects you to fight. You’ll be surrounded by guards and people like me. I doubt you’ll see any combat, even if one of those parties gets out of hand. Really, they just want to make sure you’re able to lift the sword if you have to knight anyone.”

“Emily knighted people?”

“Up,” Bull said, using his sword to tap her blade. She lifted the sword higher. Her arm burned. “Knighted them, executed them. Both involve being able to-”

“ _ Executed _ people?” she echoed incredulously. It was hard to imagine her sister that she had not seen since she was eight, ending someone’s life. But she must have, both on the battlefield and apparently off of it, as well. “Am I going to have to execute people?”

“Hope not, because the way things are going you’d end up hacking at their neck for half an hour. That would be really embarrassing for you.”

“Great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to not sweat chapter length. Sometimes you just need to tell a part of the story and it doesn't need to be long or detailed. :)


	3. Chapter 3

The next two weeks were a blur. At least three people would journey to the cottage every day and for hours they would work on molding Nora into her twin. She truly did not mind the non-physical work very much; she had always been good at learning and her experience at the Circle had surprisingly, in a way, prepared her for this work.

“If I can learn how to light my hands on fire in a place like that, I can learn anything,” she said one day, when Dorian gave her a back-handed compliment on how she seemed to have less snow on her ass than usual after sparring with Bull. 

“Yes, I imagine the general aura of oppression might have put a damper on the drive to learn,” Dorian said with a shrug. He closed the book he had been reading and watched the Iron Bull do his post-practice stretching. “Are you nervous about the move to Skyhold?”

“Ahhh,” Nora stretched the word out, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Not  _ nervous _ , no. Slightly apprehensive, maybe.”

“Not much to worry about,” Bull commented mid-lunge. “Half of the people at Skyhold haven’t said two words to the Inquisitor. The other half are either in on the switch or they haven’t talked to the Boss in so long they wouldn’t know the difference.”

“That’s true,” agreed Dorian. “Emily certainly never told us that she had a twin, either, so no one would be expecting that you could be anyone  _ but  _ her.”

“Mmm,” was all Nora said in response. They walked toward the cottage. 

Of all the people that Nora had met so far, only Josephine had known that Emily had a sister; but even then, Emily had not mentioned that they were identical twins.

Her feelings toward Emily’s omission were complicated. Most of the time she felt nothing, just a void, where she assumed there should be some kind of familial emotion. Sometimes something - anger, hurt, sadness, longing - threatened to break through, but she beat it back very quickly with a very practiced suppression. 

She didn’t have long to dwell on her thoughts, though. There was always something to do at the cottage, whether practicing with the sparring sword, reviewing the sketches of Skyhold that Leliana had brought to her, or reading the books that Dorian had brought her by the armfuls.

At night, once her eyes were strained from reading and her body was too tired to swing a sword, it was harder to keep control of her thoughts.

‘ _ What if I make a mistake? What if someone finds out I’m not the Inquisitor?’ _

That was always a thought that weighed on her mind. It would, of course, be catastrophic. The allies that had not seen the Inquisitor’s non-attendance of their parties as a slight would definitely  _ now  _ be offended if they found out they had been lied to and a paltry substitute Trevelyan passed off to them instead. 

But no matter the outcome, at least her gold was guaranteed.  _ ‘That’s what matters, _ ’ she had to tell herself.  _ ‘It doesn’t matter if they find out. I’m here to get gold so I can start over - and I’ll have plenty of sovereigns by the time Emily comes back. It doesn’t matter if anyone finds out. I don’t care. I’m not part of the Inquisition.’ _

Yet that sentence became less convincing the more time she spent getting to know the Inquisitor’s inner circle. Already, Nora had grown to like them. 

They were an odd bunch, that was for sure. From the Grey Warden that wasn’t technically a Grey Warden to the odd spirit-boy known as Cole, Nora wasn’t sure if any of Emily’s companions would fit in anywhere else in the world except for the stone castle in the mountains. 

The castle itself was beautiful. Seeing it from a distance, down in the little cottage, was nothing compared to the view she had when she first stepped through the arched entrance to Skyhold.

And she hadn’t properly prepared for the  _ noise  _ of her arrival.

“Inquisitor!”

“Welcome back!”

“Nice to see you, Inquisitor!”

“We were worried about you, Inquisitor Trevelyan-”

“Good to see you’re still in one piece!”

From every direction there was a scout or a soldier or a servant waving to her or calling out in greeting. Most of them she could not put a name to, but a few - Scout Harding, Krem, Bonny Sims - she recognized from the detailed descriptions that the Iron Bull and Leliana had passed on to her. 

She saw Cullen, too, who was flipping through a clipboard with an Inquisition soldier. The soldier had waved to her and the movement made the commander also glance up. 

“Glad to see you’ve returned, Inquisitor,” Cullen called, his quiet and steady voice nearly lost among all the excited buzz in the courtyard. Nora smiled. “We’ve had several successful missions in your absence.”

“Excellent. I look forward to reading those reports. Bring them to the war room later,” she answered back. Emily was supposedly very focused and direct; Nora hoped her choice of words projected that same priority. She doubted anyone would truly focus on something as insignificant as her choice of words, but she had butterflies in her stomach just the same.

“You cut your hair while you were away?” 

Nora glanced down. Someone had joined her on her walk up toward the castle. The smiling, freckled face of Scout Harding looked up at her.

“Yes, I did. I got something in it that… I really shouldn’t bring up in polite conversation. Had to be cut, unfortunately,” Nora answered, self-consciously touching her hair. It wasn’t short, by any means, as her loose waves reached her shoulders, but apparently Emily had very long hair that she usually kept in severe braids. “Don’t tell anyone. Let’s pretend it’s for the sake of fashion.”

“I’m sure they’ll be wearing it that way in Orlais by the end of the year,” Harding said with a grin. “You trend-setter, you.”

“I try. How have things been?”

“Oh, same old, same old. You know how it is.”

‘ _ I have no idea,’ _ thought Nora, although she forced a hopefully convincing smile. “I sure do. I’ll have to catch up with you later, though. I have other things to attend to.”

Harding nodded as the pair approached the end of the long staircase up to the great hall. The scout turned, then hesitated. “Inquisitor?”

“Yes, Harding?”

“The next time you feel like disappearing for four months, can you give us a little warning? We were all worried about you. I know Leliana said you were out on a mission, but… we missed you.”

Nora blinked. Her knee-jerk reaction was to say, ‘ _ I missed you too _ ,’ but from what she had been told about Emily, that would be out of character. The woman apparently kept very defined lines between her personal and professional relationships. So instead, Nora just nodded, turned on her heel, and walked away. 

She could not explain the odd guilt in her stomach as she made the long climb up the stairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters. She did not know Lace Harding. This was her first time meeting the scout and yet, she felt  _ bad  _ for not returning the woman’s sentiment. 

It had simultaneously been the right and the wrong thing to do. It was the right thing to say because it  _ was  _ what Emily would have done, but it was the wrong thing because as she had turned away, Nora had noticed the disappointment in Harding’s eyes. 

Perhaps this masquerade was going to be more complicated now that she was no longer in that little cottage, now that the names on a list had faces to go with them. 


	4. Chapter 4

Being the Inquisitor was quite boring. 

Sure, she had her responsibilities at Skyhold that  _ seemed _ to keep her busy. Nora attended war room councils and she met with her advisors individually at least once a week, but she wouldn’t technically classify them as ‘meetings.’ They were more illusions, really, to make it  _ look _ as if the Inquisitor were back to her usual duties.

She imagined the meetings  _ would _ be interesting if she had to make the actual choices that her sister was apparently bombarded with every day, but  _ she  _ had no such duties as she was grossly underqualified. She had spent nearly her entire life in a Circle and with her captivity came limited experience in how wars and battles and strategy worked.

Every meeting felt the same and so did Nora; she was a child: seen but not heard.

Not that there was anything for the other attendees of these meetings to hear, anyway; she could barely keep up with their rapid conversations and so she was quiet the entire duration of these councils. Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra spoke about single envelopments and double envelopments and oblique order strategies. None of it meant anything to Nora and it made her self-conscious and frustrated. 

She  _ knew  _ she was intelligent. She had always been a fast learner and it went beyond magic; she had individually sought out books on subjects other than magic from the Circle’s library and tore through them with equal voracity. Of course the library had no writings on such things as flanking patterns or anything that might help equip rebellious mages with the knowledge they would need to overtake and escape from the Circle.

But the Skyhold library did.

“You want me to find a book about  _ what? _ ” Dorian asked in disbelief. 

Nora had knocked on her fellow mage’s door early in the morning, intercepting him before he had a chance to leave his room. In the background, she heard someone chuckling. The deep voice of the Iron Bull carried to her ears.

“If you want to know about military strategy, I can fill you in,” Bull said. He appeared in the doorway; for some reason, his presence made Dorian’s face flush all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Nora said quickly, a flood of gratitude flowing through her. “But I also would like something I can read and take notes with and review in my own time. It’s the best way I learn.”

“Why do you need this?” Dorian asked suspiciously. “Surely your advisors don’t expect you to-”

“They don’t. But I… I would like to understand what’s being said in the war room instead of it just going in one ear and out the other,” she quickly. Now it was Nora’s turn to flush; her face warmed as she admitted her ignorance. “And besides - what if, what if while I’m at one of these fancy parties, someone asks me about what technique I think is more effective: single or double envelopments?”

“Depends on the situation,” Bull answered automatically. He leaned against the frame of the door and the wood creaked in response to his weight. “But you make a good point, Little Boss.”

“Yes, you do,” Dorian admitted. “I’ll get you the book, Nora.”

\---------------

Dorian held true to his word and then some. That night when Nora returned to the Inquisitor’s quarters, there was a stack of what could only be books on her desk, neatly wrapped in paper so that prying eyes could not see the titles of the books. It wouldn’t inspire confidence, exactly, if Inquisition forces saw their leader reviewing ‘ _ Arpen's Military Basics _ .’

She read the books privately, scrawling handwritten notes and memorizing maps and examples of successful military techniques. Nora felt very confident as she headed to the first of her two meetings with the commander that week. They were nearly always interrupted with a messenger or a scout that asked for Cullen’s opinion on something. Typically, Nora remained silent. 

Perhaps this week she could offer something in return.

Throughout their entire ‘meeting,’ Nora stayed quiet, sitting in the same wooden chair next to his desk that she always did. He worked silently, just as  _ he  _ always did. Cullen was polite; at first, he would always attempt to make small talk with her but eventually that would end and he would return to his duties for the remainder of their hour together.

Near the end of their allotted time slot, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Cullen called automatically.

An Inquisition scout hurried in, giving a nod of acknowledgement to Nora. “Inquisitor,” he said, then turned to Cullen. “Commander, there are reports of a large group of mercenaries that have threatened our stations in the Western Approach. They’ve set up a base near the canyons…”

The rest of the conversation was, as usual, lost to Nora. She slumped in her chair, disappointed and mentally kicking herself.

Of course military strategies and memorized terms meant nothing if she did not know the surrounding land. The canyons in the Western Approach had surely been visited by Emily before, but Nora had never laid eyes on them. How could she imagine what the land looked like?

She returned to Dorian’s doorway the next morning.

He rubbed his eyes sleepily. “What do you want?” 

“Maps. Geological surveys. Anything and everything about anywhere the Inquisition either has camps or fortresses or -”

“Yes, yes. I will get you what I can,” he said, waving a hand. “In the meantime, if you ever show up at my door this early again, you had better bring breakfast along with your demands.”

She smiled. “I will.”

\----------------------

The second pile of books appeared on her desk the next night, as Dorian had promised, but they remained untouched. The large party that Leliana had mentioned all those weeks ago was fast approaching and there were many things that needed to be completed beforehand.


	5. Chapter 5

Nora and her entourage made their way to a medium-sized Orlesian city known as Alvignac. According to Josephine, it was a very popular vacation spot for nobles due to its lakeside location and hills full of vineyards. One such vineyard was owned by the Comtesse Isabel Mercier, who was throwing an end-of-season bash to celebrate her bountiful harvest.

“Do you like wine?” Josephine asked, as the pair bounced around as their carriage made its way over a particularly rough patch of road. The scribe used a hand to brace against one of the wooden sides. “Goodness.”

“I like wine,” Nora said, her knees bumping Josephine’s. “I don’t think I like carriages.”

“Yes, well, I prefer them,” Josephine insisted.

Nora gave her companion a grateful smile. Josephine was, of course, an expert rider. But she was also an excellent diplomat; when Josie had found out that Nora had limited experiences with horses, she had suddenly had a very renewed interest in taking the rarely-used carriage to Alvignac.

It was a slower journey now that they were using the carriage. What would normally only have been a single (long) day’s ride was now expected to take two, but the small caravan of people that had come along with Nora had not said anything to her. Even the Iron Bull, seated atop the largest horse they had at Skyhold, had not complained about the slow pace.

“We can add horse riding to the to-do list,” Nora said. Josephine smiled.

“It would be faster, yes, although carriages are very in style currently. I’m sure the Comtesse will be thrilled by our choice of transportation,” she said, then cleared her throat. “Speaking of the Comtesse. Should we practice again?”

‘ _ Again _ ’ was the key word. The entire time that the two women had occupied the carriage, Josephine had insisted they keep busy. That meant constant quizzing about proper ways to address the nobility, which fork to use first during dinner, which dance was currently the most fashionable, and a thousand other things that Josephine kept on a very long list.

“What is the full name of the host?”

“Comtesse Isabel Mercier.”

“Her form of address?”

“Her Ladyship.”

Josephine paused. “Or?”

“Madame,” Nora said flatly. She lifted her hand to one of the glass windows of the carriage, using her fingertip to trace an imaginary pattern. On the other side of the window she could see Cullen, riding his horse alongside the Iron Bull. The two were speaking about something, but she couldn’t hear their voices clearly enough to decipher  _ what _ .

“Excellent. What will the Comtesse be wearing?”

She frowned, trying to remember Leliana’s reports. Of course the spymaster had squeezed that information from Isabel’s dressmaker. “A white and navy dress with black lace and... exaggerated gold epaulettes.”

“Perfect. I double checked the guestlist before we left the inn this morning and there are only two nobles in attendance who have previously met the Inquisitor. But their -  _ your  _ \- interactions were brief, so there is nothing that may compromise us.”

“Which nobles?”

“Lord Tristan and Lady Sasha du Soucy.”

The names meant nothing to her. Nora shrugged and Josephine returned the motion.

“Now,” Josephine said, clapping her hands together lightly. “We are very near to the estate. Comtesse Isabel herself will not be there to greet us as she is finishing preparations for tonight, but she has given us several rooms to prepare ourselves for the party. You will need to bathe and then I will send in someone to assist you with getting dressed.” 

* * *

The Comtesse’s estate was more elegant than anything Nora had ever seen. The main household, covered in ivy and blooming yellow flowers, was nestled at the edge of a large pond, which had majestic water birds strutting around in the reeds. They took flight as Nora’s carriage arrived, long legs trailing behind.

The guest rooms were just as opulent. Nora had her own suite, with an attached tile-covered bathing room that already had steamy water rising from a copper tub. She bathed quickly, adding in a few splashes from a nearby carafe of rose oil. That was mostly to placate Josephine in advance, as Nora knew the ambassador would want her to look - and smell - her best.

As promised, an attendant appeared soon after to help Nora get dressed in her party attire. Upon seeing the clothes that Leliana had chosen, she couldn’t help but wonder  _ why  _ she needed someone to help her. Emily’s formalwear of choice was apparently a simple pair of structured pants and a military-inspired jacket, both in a neutral gray-green color that Nora felt completely washed out her complexion.

The attendant seemed to be waiting for a response. Nora ran a hand over her still-slightly-damp waves. “Excellent, thank you,” she said finally. Apparently it was a convincing enough response; the woman left with a quick nod and curtsy.

Nora returned to the large standing mirror that was near the guest room’s wardrobe. Self-consciously, she tucked her hair behind her ears, surveying herself. She felt odd. Is this what Emily looked like? She tried to make her mouth look stern, her eyebrows creased. Perhaps  _ that  _ was more like the Inquisitor, from what she had heard.

Her stomach grew tighter as the minutes passed. Was she supposed to wait for Josephine? Where was the Iron Bull? He was always fun and made her feel comfortable. Maker, at this point she’d even take reserved Cullen to keep her company. At least his presence would be something else to focus on instead of the growing nervousness in the pit of her belly.

This was the first test. If these nobles saw through her, that would be the end of the line. Where would she go? A thousand situations passed through her mind. Would she even be allowed to return to Skyhold to collect her very few belongings? Perhaps the Inquisition would renounce her and say they hadn’t known she was an imposter. 

Her legs felt quaky. Nora beelined to an overstuffed armchair and collapsed down into its mound of velvety pillows.

The jacket suddenly felt like it was strangling her, the collar too tight. Her breathing, which had previously been something automatic and unnoticed, was now something she had to focus on.  _ In and out. In and out.  _ She felt out of breath.

Someone knocked on her door.

Her heart lurched. The pit in her stomach grew heavier and heavier as Nora rose from the armchair. It was as if someone else was controlling her body; her legs moved automatically and she saw her hand reach toward the doorknob.

The knob was twisted in her palm and in the half-second the simple action took, her body changed. The pit was gone, pushed away, and in its place rose a familiar emptiness. Feeling nothing, in this case, was better than feeling anything else.


	6. Chapter 6

“Little Boss,” Bull said in acknowledgement as she stepped into the hallway outside of her guest suite. Gone was his typical pair of oversized pants and in its place was a scarlet uniform with shiny gold buttons and epaulettes. It was very similar looking to her own attire but the brilliant red made her gray suit look even more drab in comparison. “You look…”

She forced a half-smile. “Regal?”

“Ahh… I was going to say ‘sweaty.’”

Nora raised a hand and wiped first her forehead and then her upper lip. Her stomach curled. She willed it to relax, but it would not. When she spoke, her words were breezy and convincing-sounding. “Really? It was kind of stuffy in my room, I suppose. How is yours?”

“Oh, you know. You’ve seen one Orlesian guest room, you’ve seen them all,” Bull said with a shrug of his large shoulders.

She smiled, genuinely. “True. Are you ready to head to the ballroom?”

“Oh, yeah. My stomach is particularly ready for the mountain of delicious food,” he said, voice low and rumbling. “How about you? You remember all your training? I heard Josephine drilling you at every opportunity. Hopefully it all sunk in.”

They started down the hallway. Nora absently pulled a pair of soft gray gloves from her pocket and tugged them over her hands and up her wrists. “I could never forget how to make a proper curtsy if I tried. It’s burned into my brain forever.”

He chuckled. “Josephine wanted me to remind you to keep your gloves on at all times, even while eating. And if anyone asks-”

“Say that it helps suppress the pain of the Mark. I know, I remember,” she said. Her words came to her easier now. His questions gave her something else to focus on instead of the flipping in her stomach and her quick heartbeat. “I remember _all_ of the rules.”

“Are you nervous?”

She swallowed hard. Nora thought her performance had been convincing. Was she still sweaty-looking? Or was it something else? Could Bull tell? Did he know? “A little,” she admitted. “I know how important this is.”

“Most of the people here aren’t that important… mostly minor nobles. They’re rich, sure, and money is important, but - no one’s going to give a shit if you offend Count Whatshisname of Whereverthefuck.”

Nora nodded. That was comforting, in a way. 

She tried to think back to her weeks of training as they continued their walk down the seemingly endless hallway. They had been preparing her for this; she had put in hours of sweat and study. It was just like the exams in the Circle. 

It helped to pretend like this was just a routine test. Her stomach was uncurling itself. It was just a little quiz. It was just like the verbal exams at the Circle; she just needed to make sure she gave the right answers and everything was going to be okay.

“Here we are, Boss.”

Near the end of the hall was a set of large, double doors with attendants on each side. The doors were beautiful, carved with a scene of sloping hills and sunrays. The rays were gilded in what Nora assumed was real gold. That would be the ballroom, without a doubt. 

As the pair grew closer to the doors, the attendants wordlessly reached for the gold doorhandles and pulled them open in unison.

Spread before Nora was a short staircase that descended into a sunken ballroom with shiny marble tiles and a crowd of swirling skirts and colorful capes. Everyone suddenly looked up to the landing of the staircase and she realized that she had just been announced. The sea of masked and unmasked faces staring up at her made her knees feel shaky.

“- and her companion, the Iron Bull!” the announcer finished.

Nora took a breath and began a careful walk down the stairs. The last thing she needed was to trip and smash her head on the pretty tiles, although honestly the nobles would probably delight in that - it would give them something to talk about for months.

As soon as both feet were flat on the ballroom floor, a masked noble appeared in front of her. His hair was salt-and-pepper and a curly mustache peeked out from the bottom of his gilded mask.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan,” he said, bowing. She returned the gesture with a curtsy. “How was your journey? I heard you arrived in a carriage.”

There was an unspoken inquiry in his words: ‘ _why? Why did you arrive via carriage?’_ The Game had begun. Nora took a deep, slow breath. It started quaky, but by the end of it a little fire was lit in her ribcage and it made her words steady and confident as it burned away her nerves.

“Yes,” she said with a polite smile. “I always travel by horseback. I thought I should take time to appreciate the scenery more. Orlais is a jewel.”

“Hmm,” he said. He seemed to be evaluating her answer. “Yes, I agree. I’ve heard carriages are making a triumphant, stylish return in Val Royeaux. My brother has a small summer home in the city; he sends word of elaborate carriages that are so ornate and gilded in gold that they require a team of work horses to pull them.”

“Sounds inefficient,” the Iron Bull said, voice deep and bored-sounding. The Orlesian noble raised his eyebrows, as if he had somehow accidentally overlooked the hulking Qunari’s presence.

“Style does not need to be efficient,” the noble said curtly.

“Something to think upon,” Nora said with a diplomatic smile, shooting the Iron Bull a look. Her tone was polite as she nodded to the nobleman. “Thank you for your conversation. Perhaps we will speak more later.”

“Yes. We can speak - or dance - later. Perhaps both; I would love to hear about your recent activities with the Inquisition. Until then, enjoy your evening,” the man said, giving a little bow and then retreating back into the dance floor.

Once she could no longer see him, Nora turned to the Iron Bull. “Who was that?”

“No clue,” Bull said with a shrug. “Keeping track of names isn’t my job tonight.”

“What is it, then?”

“Ahhh. Babysitting. Being a wall of muscle.”

Nora left the Iron Bull to his job. He spent a large part of the next hour lurking next to one of the long banquet tables that had been covered with an assortment of tiny food. Nora ventured over to it at one point; tiny fried quail eggs sat up delicate-looking butter crackers. There were neat little squares of blueberry pastry, drizzled with cream.

_Emily rarely eats at banquets._

Nora could hear Josephine’s voice in her head and she could picture the Antivan’s look on her face as she had drilled Nora in the carriage. She had thought it would be a problem; how would she go all night without eating anything? Wouldn’t she get hungry?

But now that she was here, standing on the edge of a crowd of nobles that she did not know, feeling watched and exposed, it was clear this would not be an issue. Her stomach was still fluttering occasionally and Nora doubted it would find a nibble of an hors d’oeuvre acceptable.

Was that why Emily didn’t eat in front of people? Did she also feel as nervous as Nora felt in a situation like this? The thought comforted her. Perhaps the almighty Inquisitor was human, after all. 

“Inquisitor.”

A deep voice interrupted her thoughts. Nora turned; there was a masked noble approaching her. He wore a brilliant purple doublet, trimmed with gold and embroidered with a coat of arms she did not recognize. Her heart hammered; it was a songbird resting on a ring of thorned branches.

Had she and Josephine talked about this emblem? Her mind was blank. Her mouth moved automatically and words fell from her, sounding surprisingly calm. “Hello. What a fantastic-looking color.”

“Ah, you flatter me,” the man said, giving a small bow. His mask covered his entire face; only his eyes were visible and they were as dark as a shadow and revealed nothing. “I did not realize the Inquisitor had an eye for such things.”

His head gave the tiniest tip to her bland-looking outfit. 

“Ah,” she said simply, glancing down at herself. Nora cleared her throat and then gestured to the songbird on his chest. “Forgive me, but I cannot place the sigil-”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said with a wave of his hand. And then there was a dark glint in his eye. “Although, if you are remorseful, I would feel better if you agreed to dance with me.”

‘ _Do not dance with anyone,’_ Josephine had told her firmly. ‘ _If you dance with one noble and not another, they could take it as a slight. You will be stuck in a cycle of dancing all night. If you must dance with anyone, make sure you only dance with the Comtesse herself - and that if only if she asks.’_

Her instructions had been clear and logical. At this small gathering, the string of nobles in attendance put a lot of weight into simple gestures like dances or prolonged conversation. Nora was not looking to offend anyone this evening, during her first test.

And yet she had already offended someone, even very slightly, by not recognizing the sigil that this man wore. Nora hesitated and glanced around, praying she would see Josephine or the Iron Bull and they would recognize the panic in her eyes.

She did spot her friends, but Bull’s back was to her and Josephine was in animated conversation with a woman wearing a glossy pink skirt. 

“I would, but I - I, ahm-” Nora cleared her throat and as she recognized a scarlet uniform, her hand shot out and she gripped the person’s sleeve in a tight grip. The golden-haired man made a noise of surprise. “I would love to, but unfortunately I promised Commander Cullen the first dance.”


	7. Chapter 7

For a brief moment as Cullen cleared his throat and awkwardly let himself be led away from the noble with the purple-tunic and to the dance floor, Nora was worried that she had made a mistake. Maybe she should have said that Josephine had claimed the first dance. What if Cullen had clammy hands? Her gloves would protect her from that - but what if he held her hand so loosely it felt like she was being gripped by a dead fish?

Her worries were settled as their dance began. 

Cullen took her hand after a short, respectful bow, and his hands were not clammy - not that she could feel, at least. Her waist was held with the perfect amount of pressure, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make her feel confident in his abilities to dance.

Nora must have let something in her face betray her sudden relief, for Cullen raised an eyebrow and spoke. “You look surprised.”

“I didn’t know you could dance,” she admitted as they moved.

“I rarely do. The opportunities for dancing are few and far between upon the battlements,” he said, which made her laugh. Cullen looked pleased at the reaction. “Everyone always looks shocked that I would have bothered to learn a useful skill.”

“Not so much that… more that you’d consider dancing a useful skill,” she explained. Nora was aware they were being watched, as always, but it was surprisingly easy to put the nobles at the back of her mind. Cullen was tall and had broad shoulders; he blocked most of them from her view and it was easy to focus on his face instead of the crowd around them.

“We are always under public scrutiny,” he said. “As much as I dislike the fact that a noble would me more likely to donate to our cause if we don’t all look like buffoons while dancing… I reluctantly understand it.”

“And so you dance,” she concluded, then studied him. He didn’t look like he was paining himself by forcing the movements of the dance, but he also did not look like he was particularly enjoying himself. “But you don’t like to.”

“I generally don’t like the people who ask me to dance, no,” he said. 

“Good thing I didn’t technically  _ ask _ you.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a quiet chuckle.

Their dance continued. The song was rather long, as was currently in fashion in Orlais, and occasionally the music would be accompanied by the voice of the singer who sat near the band. Everything was in Orlesian but Nora could understand a word here and there. 

Her attention shifted back to her dance partner. She looked up at him, looking at the scar on his lip for a moment before lifting her gaze to his eyes. “How do you think it’s going?”

“The… dance?” He had clearly been thinking of something else. Cullen’s eyes were focused beyond her, just over her head, but they flickered down to her briefly. 

“The night in general.”

“It’s hard to know,” he said carefully. “I think things are going as well as can be expected.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling oddly disappointed. Nora tried not to obsess over his wording, but she did anyway as they continued their dance.  _ As well as can be expected.  _ That could mean several things and her mind rocketed through them all at top speed.

Perhaps Cullen meant things were  _ literally _ going as well as they could. Maybe she was doing a great job pretending to be her twin sister. Or perhaps it was a subtle jab at her… things were going as well as could be expected  _ from a mediocre pretender who was hastily trained _ .

Nora sucked in a shallow breath and exhaled slowly, trying to let reason guide her thoughts as Cullen guided their footsteps. 

The commander was not a mean person. He was professional, yes, and a tactical thinker, but during their meetings he had never given any indication that he would conceal any criticism of her in petty veiled sentences. 

He was rather straightforward in that capacity, which Nora appreciated.

Her anxious stomach settled during the remainder of their dance. When the music finally wound down, he pulled away, giving a little bow and motioning behind her.

“I believe the next dance is claimed,” he said, lifting his eyebrows ever so slightly. There was a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

A lead weight had dropped into her belly. _ Great. _ Claimed by one of the nobles in attendance, no doubt. Nora turned around slowly, wondering which one it would be. Perhaps the man in the purple tunic from before, returning for his dance. 

“Oh, wonderful, I  _ love _ this song!”

A hand gripped hers and before she knew it, Nora was in the arms of Josephine Montilyet. Or perhaps the ambassador was in Nora’s arms; it was hard to tell at times, as they seemed to be alternating between leading and following. There wasn’t much of a difference in this situation, as the song that had started was very slow and romantic and they were mostly just slowly rotating in a circle.

Josephine filled the silence with amicable chatter about various topics. Nora tried to look interested but it was difficult; between her thoughts replaying her conversation with Cullen and the nobles circling around them, it was hard to concentrate on Josephine’s words. 

They reminded her of vultures.

“Stop that.”

Nora’s gaze snapped down to Josephine. She blinked. “What?”

“You are worrying about something or blaming yourself for something.  _ You  _ have gotten that same look on your face before.” Josephine’s tone and words were clear enough: Emily had similar expressions, apparently.

Nora shrugged. Josephine looked expectantly at her, waiting for some explanation. “I… am just concerned with how the night is going,” she said carefully.

“Why? Did someone say something to you?” Josephine’s tone was light, but there was an urgent and concerned look in her eyes.

“No. I just feel like I haven’t been doing a very good job. You and Cullen had to rescue me  _ already _ and the night has just begun.”

Josephine smiled. It was polite, but kind. “Inquisitor,” she said, sounding like she had given a pep talk like this a thousand times before. “The people here have all been playing the Game for a very long time - some, their whole lives. No one expects things to go perfectly. That is why we are all here with you.”

Nora felt an odd lump in her throat. It took her a few moments to swallow it back down to her belly and after she did, she spoke. Josephine either did not notice the delay or she graciously pretended to not notice. “I just feel like I made a mistake already.”

“No, not at all,” Josephine said. Her hand squeezed Nora’s slightly. 

“If you say so.”

The ambassador smiled. “I do,” she insisted. “And I am very nearly always right. Ask Leliana.”

Nora grinned slightly. “That’s very cocky of you, Lady Montilyet.”

“I am only cocky when I have cause to be. Now, come, we should stop talking. The song is about to pick up and this is my favorite part - listen for the harps! They sing so beautifully.”

The song  _ did  _ pick up. What had started as slow and romantic was quickly hastening into something sweet and jaunty. Josephine kept a tight grip on Nora’s gloved hand as they swirled around the dance floor. 

It was easier to ignore the ring of nobles now; their faces were blurry as the pair bounced around the dance floor. Nora enjoyed several blissful minutes of feeling like she and her friend were the only two people in the room. Josephine was smiling by the time the music began to slow, signaling the song would soon wrap up. 

The masked faces came back into focus again.

She exhaled, trying to keep her breath even. She needed to think instead of panic. 

Nora had been training for this moment for literal weeks. Everyone had put effort into this night: Leliana, Cassandra, Bull, Dorian, the list was endless. 

_ I’m stronger than this,  _ she told herself, trying to steel her stomach. They were merely rich people. Rich people that she needed to impress and fool simultaneously, yes, but just rich people. Most of them had been born into it, too, and hadn’t ever had to work for it. What had they done in their life?

_ I’ve killed and fought and clawed my way here. I’m smart and I’m capable. I survived the Circle, I survived being on my own in the world. I’ve conquered ten times the things they have. I can do this. Think, Nora. Think of a way or saying no without offending anyone. _

She cleared her throat. “Josephine.”

“Yes?”

Nora feigned a look of pain. “I think all the twirling has made me dizzy.”

“Oh! Oh, no - are you alright?” Josephine asked, her eyebrows lifting. She placed her hand on Nora’s arm and looked genuinely concerned.

“Just a little nauseous. I’m going to find a balcony, I think, and get some fresh air.”

“Goodness. Yes, go do that. I will take care of everything,” Josephine urged, waving a hand toward a nearby windowed door. “I’ll - oh, hello, Baron. No, I’m sorry, the Inquisitor was just getting some fresh air…”

She retreated to a balcony that was, surprisingly, empty. It overlooked the beautiful grounds of the Comtesse’s vineyard and garden. Here and there were garden lights surrounded by bits of colored glass that reflected rainbows around the bountiful roses and grape trellises. 

It was a good hiding spot, all things considered. 

Nora sat on a rigid stone bench, facing outward toward the grounds.

She did not like feeling this way. All those weeks ago, in the tavern, she had told Leliana that her work was good - and expensive. She felt like she had lied to her somehow.  _ If I’m so good at lying, then why did I crumble within an hour?  _

“What is wrong with me?” she muttered to herself. The lightning bugs nestled in an overflowing planter nearby did not offer any answer. 

Her mind flip flopped between overconfidence and overwhelming anxiety. One moment she would be so worried about her performance as Emily, the next she would be reminding herself it didn’t matter. This wasn’t her Inquisition, she was risking nothing but sovereigns. She had no personal stakes in this Game.

The faces of her friends - no, Emily’s friends - flashed in her mind. 

The balcony door squeaked as it was opened. Nora whirled around on the bench, twisting to see who had joined her. 

Cullen cleared his throat as he closed the glass-paned door behind him. “Josephine is… preoccupied with nobles, so she asked that I come in her place.”

Nora stood from the bench. “Is everything alright?”

“I believe Josephine wanted to ask you that very same question.”

“Oh,” she said, frowning. Josephine had apparently not realized she was lying about her sudden sickness. “Yes, I - I was feeling ill, so  _ unfortunately _ I was unable to dance with the next noble.”

She forced a smile. 

“Ah,” Cullen said. His next words were tinged with sarcasm, just as hers had been. “How upsetting.”

“I’ll never recover from my devastation,” she assured him, sitting down on the bench once more. Cullen did not sit; he lingered near the door.

“I will leave you to your tragedy, then,” he said, giving a small nod and beginning to turn.

Nora’s breath caught in her chest - she did not want to be alone with her warring thoughts right now. The lightning bugs were poor company; the Commander would be a much better distraction, just as he had been during their dance.

“How dare you leave your Inquisitor in her time of need,” she blurted out as his hand touched the doorknob, her voice mock-angry. Nora looked around; there were no occupants of the adjacent balconies and the ground beyond was deserted. It would be safe to speak here. “You’re going to ruin my illusion.”

“Ruin your…?” he trailed off, turning back to face her.

“Yes. If I was truly ill, my commander would not leave me alone on a balcony to perish,” she explained. “Or at least I hope you wouldn’t.”

“I-”

“Please stay,” she said, trying to avoid sounding like she was begging. Maker knew she  _ would  _ if she needed to; Nora was tired enough already of her uncontrollable thoughts. “At least until Josephine can tear herself away from the wolves and let me know if I can retire to my room yet.”

“I… you make a good point,” he said reluctantly. 

Cullen crossed the balcony and leaned upon the carved stone balcony railing. He was angled so that he could see both the paned doors and also the garden, no doubt still playing the role of commander even now. 

They were quiet for a few minutes. The silence was easy. Cullen’s eyes scanned the grounds periodically;  _ Nora’s _ eyes scanned Cullen. He looked to be very absorbed in his thoughts and there was a little crease of thought on his forehead.

The sound of the next song wafted over to her. 

“When was the last time you danced?” she asked him. “Besides half an hour ago, I mean.”

“Hmm,” he said, eyes roaming over the grounds once more before moving to look at her. “That night when we returned to Skyhold. After Corypheus’ defeat. There was a large celebration. Everyone was dancing and drinking - Josephine asked me to dance.”

She smiled, thinking of Josephine’s broad and true smile as she had pulled Nora onto the dance floor. “It’s impossible to say no to Josephine.”

“It is,” he agreed.

A sudden thought occurred to her. Nora couldn’t help herself; she blurted out, “Are you and Josephine…?”

Cullen coughed. “Why.. why would you-” he cleared his throat. “No, we are friends, nothing more.”

Nora felt oddly relieved - and he looked like there was something else he wanted to add.

“What?” she questioned.

“I - it’s not my place to discuss the business of others,” he said slowly. There was a squeak. Both Cullen and Nora looked toward the balcony door just as the Iron Bull appeared, his wide shoulders narrowly fitting through the door. 

“Hey, Little Boss,” he said cheerfully. He surveyed her, then grinned. “Josephine said you were faking. Good call, that way we won’t have to worry about pissing anybody off.”

“Josephine  _ knew _ I was lying? And she sent you anyway?” she asked, turning to Cullen.

“She must have known it would look more convincing if I came to join you,” the commander guessed.

Nora paused. “She’s better at the Game than she lets on, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bull confirmed with a deep laugh. He jerked his head toward the door. “We have the go ahead to get you back to your room for your -  _ recovery.  _ Unless you’d prefer to stick around here.”

  
“Let’s go.”


	8. Chapter 8

It became easier.

Nora found that after that night, every time she had to slip into the mask of Emily, the transition was a little bit smoother each time. 

Sometimes the Game still intimidated her; she was not the quickest to decipher every hidden meaning behind words and actions, but for that she had Josephine and she was grateful for the ambassador’s guidance. Lady Montilyet was always a few steps behind, ready to prevent any blunders. 

They went to birthday parties, holidays, masquerades, and balls. The Inquisitor made frequent appearances at social gatherings all over Orlais and Ferelden. Once they even made it to the Free Marches. Being so close to Ostwick - to her family - made Nora uneasy, but their paths did not cross at the twentieth marriage anniversary party that she was attending.

After the first month, they stopped using carriages. Nora was taught by Blackwall, discreetly, in the forest near Skyhold to ride horses properly. 

The horse Blackwall had picked for her was a mare named Ocean Breeze. The brown horse was big and stocky, but sweet with an affinity for slices of pumpkin and carrots. 

“Good. Good,” Blackwall said, watching Breeze and Nora make their way up and then down a rocky incline. He was holding the reins of his own horse, a mare named Thunderheart, as he observed. The dapple gray horse was content to be standing still; Blackwall was slipping her pieces of apple every few minutes. “That’s it. Just take it slow and steady.”

Nora liked Blackwall. He was never anything but kind to her, but he had a sort of hidden glimmer of mischievousness about him that made her laugh in surprise when she would overhear him saying something borderline bawdy. 

When she had originally approached him for their first lesson together, he had been surprised that she didn’t know how to ride a horse. 

“I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a child. After the funding for the Circle’s Equestrian Club fell through, so did any hope of being a champion horse racer,” she said, which had made him chuckle. 

Blackwall’s voice brought her back to the present. “That’s enough for today. There’s a lake that’s a short ride from here. Do you feel like fishing before we head back to Skyhold?”

Nora blinked. “I don’t know,” she said slowly, waiting for Blackwall to mount his horse. “I’ve never been fishing.”

“Never been…?” he asked incredulously, swinging a leg over Thunderheart. He patted the horse’s neck. “We’re going to fix that.”

He held true to his word. Blackwall took her to a decently sized, reed-lined lake nearby. Fishing line was produced from a pouch on his belt and he showed her how to attach an iron hook to the end of it. Together they caught three fish in an hour; one was small, so they threw it back. 

Soon they were kneeling on a flat rock, passing a sharp little knife back and forth between them. He showed her how to take the scales off the fish and how to clean out their bellies and how to thread them onto a pointed stick. 

“Now. Dinner time,” Blackwall grunted as he crouched down to gather some dry grass and sticks. Nora helped him build a small little pile of flammable materials and when he pulled flint and steel from his hip pouch she laughed.

“Put that away,” she ordered, bumping his hip with hers. Blackwall chuckled as he caught his balance and stood. “Don’t insult me.”

Nora took a breath, summoned the familiar-feeling warmth in her chest, and when she exhaled there were flames sprouting from her fingertips. They caught the kindle quickly and within moments there was a strong little fire burning. She stood, looking quite pleased with herself.

“That’s handy. Sometimes I forget you’re a mage,” he admitted, passing her a fish to rotate slowly over the fire.

“Sometimes I forget, too.”

She was looking into the flames, eyes on her slowly cooking dinner, but she could feel his gaze on her. Nora waited.

“You need more of this,” Blackwall said finally.

“More… cooking fish?” she asked as she turned toward him.

“No, more time away from Skyhold.”

She shrugged. “I’m away from Skyhold all the time.”

“Time away where you don’t have to pretend,” he insisted.

“That’s the job. I’m not getting paid to be Nora, I’m getting paid to be Emily,” Nora reminded him. 

“True, but trust me, you’ll get burned out,” Blackwall said. 

“Speaking from experience?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Nora knew very little about the whole Blackwall-isn’t-a-Warden situation. Leliana’s briefing on his identity had been, well, brief. 

“I am,” he said. His steady, unwavering gaze made her uncomfortable. He looked so sure of himself. “Pretending to be Blackwall wasn’t difficult. No one really knew him well. And he didn’t have to put on airs around the fancy nobles like you do. I could let bits and pieces of myself show through and not have to worry about discovery. You can’t do that.”

She smiled, dropping her eyes to the fire again. “You just want a fishing partner.”

“If that’s what I wanted, I would have chosen a better one than you.”

“Hey, I caught one!”

“That fish was tiny. I would only count him as a quarter of a fish. Maybe. If I was being generous.”

“I bet he would have been delicious,” she grumbled. Her fish was looking crispy and golden, as was Blackwall’s. Nora watched as he reached down to pinch the fish’s flesh, checking to see if it was cooked through.

“All bones, more like it,” he said. “And only two bites worth.”

She studied him. “You’re kind of a shit, aren’t you?” she decided.

He chuckled, moving his fish back over the fire. Apparently it was not cooked through yet. Nora pinched her own fish similarly, though what she was feeling for she had no idea. It felt like a fish to her. 

She hesitated. “Did you... ever take Emily fishing?”

“Ah, no.”

Nora let out a soft snort.

Blackwall looked at her, a dark eyebrow raised. 

“It’s just… nobody seems to have been friends with her,” Nora explained. “Just colleagues.”

He paused for a moment and then cleared his throat. “Emily kept -  _ keeps _ \- people at arm’s length,” he explained. Nora thought that Joserphine would have been proud of Blackwall’s diplomatic response. “Was she different as a child?”

“Oh, yes. She’d talk to anyone and everyone and talk their ears off from dusk until dawn. I wonder what changed.”

Blackwall spoke softly. “She had her best friend taken away from her. I’d imagine that’d leave some kind of impact.”

Her skin felt prickly. Nora cleared her throat. “Are the fish done?”

“Then let’s take them to eat on the road. I imagine everyone is wondering where we are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
